Ultimate Sins (8 page)

At least long enough for Wayne to take care of his daughters and Crowe Callahan.

Him and those arrogant cousins of his.

His only regret was Amelia.

Had she simply stayed away from Crowe as he'd warned her to do, then she would have been safe. Had she not betrayed him for Crowe, then Wayne would have just let her be after Amory's betrayal.

She could have lived.

But he couldn't allow her to live now. Not after a Callahan had defiled her body. Still, if he wasn't mistaken, he knew his enemy's greatest weakness. He only wished he'd known earlier how much his daughter had meant to the other man over the years.

Wayne knew how to destroy Crowe Callahan now.

He'd seen it in the recorded broadcasts of the news stories. He'd heard it in the bastard's voice.

Crowe was in love with Amelia, whether he realized it or not. Taking her from Crowe would destroy him.

 

CHAPTER 3

Wayne was dead.

Or so it appeared.

Leaning forward in the large, dark leather chair, Amelia watched the chase up Corbin Pass for what had to be the hundredth time since it had actually occurred six hours before.

Eyes narrowed, she focused on the tan sedan as the news helicopter recorded its race up the mountain.

From the moment Sheriff Archer Tobias had called in the sighting of the suspected serial rapist and murderer, chaos had reigned. News helicopters, reporters, and journalists had flooded Corbin County, Sweetrock, and the Ramsey Ranch in Pitkin County, Colorado.

Then they had all but surrounded the house Amelia had lived in during her marriage years before, next to her father's property, searching for her. It hadn't taken them long to learn she had moved back into the main house after her husband's desertion five years before.

Amelia's life had gone from bad to worse when the media arrived. As if it could have gotten any worse after her father had kidnapped and almost killed her weeks before.

Like he had killed so many other young women. Like he had killed her mother.

“Admitted serial rapist and murderer,” the reports always stated.

Wayne had admitted to his atrocities as he spoke to Crowe and Archer, just before going over the cliff. He had admitted to years of murders in an attempt to destroy the Callahans, steal their land, and recover a treasure that had been hidden for generations.

Wayne hadn't had to admit to it, though.

She had known it was Wayne and Amory the night she was kidnapped. The night he'd attempted to kidnap and kill Crowe's sister, Anna. Not just because his partner, Amory, had mentioned Wayne's name, but because she had heard his voice herself. Because he had stood over her that night as she lay drugged and helpless, stroked his hand down her arm, and in that low, deep tone that always sent fear racing up her back assured her it was going to hurt when he allowed Amory to kill her.

It was all she could do to swallow back the bile that rose in the back of her throat at the memory. God. How had she not known—how had she not at least suspected him for the monster he was?

When the car exploded on the television, the fireball reaching nearly to the top of the canyon wall, Amelia's fists clenched as a sense of satisfaction filled her.

And a sense of trepidation.

And suspicion.

“Too easy,” she muttered, covering her face with her hands as she fought the panic building in her chest. “There's no way he would have ‘let' that happen.”

“Where did you see him let anything happen?”

Amelia was on her feet, swinging around as adrenaline surged through her system. Coming face-to-face with Crowe was a shock to her senses, she realized. It always had been. Her heart beat faster, her body became primed, her mouth dried out—but farther down, that sensitive flesh between her thighs became far too wet.

She had been expecting him, yet still the effect he had on her was instant. From the moment she heard that the chase was occurring, she had known he would be there soon.

That didn't mean she had to like it. It didn't mean she'd known when to expect it.

She clasped her hands in front of her, preparing herself to weather this meeting as she did every other meeting with him. Without fracturing from the inside out with the pain of what she had lost over the years.

Those predatory amber-flecked brown eyes followed the movement, the hard line of his lips quirking with some unspoken humor.

He really had changed since the night she had helped him steal that file from Wayne, she noticed again. The dark, hard planes and angles of his face had matured and hardened. The compassion and warmth that had once filled them was no longer apparent. His wolf-colored eyes blazed from within his face, giving him the appearance of a warrior while his hard body assured her he had the power to be just as lethal.

There were a few lines at the corners of his eyes.
Life lines,
she liked to call them. The unsmiling curve of his lips, the hard, strong line of his jaw, his stubborn chin.

He was tall, nearly six and a half feet, without so much as an inch of fat on that hard body. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved white shirt under a black leather jacket, he could have been a gunslinger or a Native American chief from decades past.

And he never failed to steal her breath, making her heart race and saturating the flesh between her thighs with her need to be possessed by him.

In the weeks since the discovery that Wayne was the Slasher, Amelia had pretended to be Crowe's lover. She had been at his side during the discovery of the treasure Wayne had sought and remained quiet whenever it had been suggested that they were involved in a relationship.

Those were the only times she had seen him, the only times he had touched her.

As she watched, he slowly shrugged the jacket from his shoulders. Her gaze was drawn to the breadth of them, her senses to the memory of the feel of them beneath her sensitive palms as she scraped them with her nails.

Those shoulders had rippled with strength, and tightened powerfully as he moved above her.

“You seem doubtful that he's dead,” he stated as he laid the jacket over the back of the old wingback chair next to the family room entrance.

Doubtful? Was that what she was feeling? No, she was feeling terrified. “Excuse me for being skeptical, Crowe. I may not have known he was the Slasher until the night he kidnapped me, but I did know how calculating and ruthless he was. I won't believe it until the DNA tests prove it's him.”

She couldn't take the risk that he had somehow managed to fool everyone.

She had far too much to lose, and far too much to protect.

Releasing the hold she had on her own hands, Amelia fought to restrain the anger and the pain that had built over the years. The hunger, the need: They were all tied together, one and the same, and tormented her each time she was around Crowe.

“Archer had the body transported to the morgue, and Nash will be sending out for DNA tests. The county hasn't purchased the equipment for it yet,” he informed her.

She was well aware of that. “Wayne blocked the purchase three years straight,” she remembered bitterly. “No doubt to ensure that he, or his partners, would have the time to escape or for Wayne to corrupt any samples.”

“No doubt,” he agreed, hooking his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans as his gaze roved over her body slowly.

Her breasts swelled immediately, her nipples rasping against the lace of her bra as his gaze paused at them.

Remembering?

Did he remember how sensitive he could make them? How they responded with such intense pleasure to just the thought of his touch?

“Why are you here?” she finally asked nervously before realizing she'd once again clasped her hands protectively in front of her. “How did you get in this time?”

The smallest curl of mockery pulled at his lips. “That lock on your balcony door upstairs isn't nearly as secure as you think it is. And the alarm is so easy to trick that a three-year-old could do it.”

Wonderful.

“So you're just checking to make sure I'm safe?” she questioned him, before taking a moment to stem the anger threatening to override her control. What had made her think he'd be there for any other reason? “Why, thank you for your consideration, Mr. Callahan. Shall I see you out?”

See him out when she wanted to scream, to rage because she couldn't have what she needed, she could never have what she ached for. And not just because of Wayne. Once Crowe learned the true extent of her deception, he would hate her.

A low, amused chuckle vibrated from his chest, stroked over her senses, and had her clit throbbing harder in need.

Hell, her whole body ached for his touch. Every cell was on high alert and straining toward the warmth of his flesh.

He made her want to hope, when she knew better.

“Do you really want to see me out?” he asked, his head inclining quizzically as mocking amusement filled his gaze. “With all those reporters outside?”

Amelia glanced toward the windows, her lips tight in displeasure. The shades were pulled, the heavy curtains tightly closed against the glare and flash of cameras.

Even before she had been released from the hospital after the twenty-four hours of observation, and an intense interrogation by the FBI, Sheriff Archer Tobias, and the Callahans' lawyer Lucas Grace several weeks before, reporters had begun showing up.

She'd had to turn her phones off. She knew better than to answer the door; no one was out there but reporters demanding a statement.

“I wish they would just go away,” she burst out, pushing her hands through her hair before glaring back at him. “I hate having all the windows so tightly covered all the time.”

“They need their pound of flesh,” he told her. “But they'll go away. Eventually.”

She stared back at him angrily. “That's easy for you to say. It's not your pound of flesh they're trying to strip off.”

Without waiting for another one of his asinine comments, Amelia turned and stalked to the kitchen.

“That's very true,” he agreed as he followed her. “But have no fear, sweetheart. Until I've taken what I want of your pretty little body, I promise not to allow anyone else to take what they want.”

Amelia was certain she couldn't have heard him correctly.

She turned slowly and stared back at him. “What did you just say to me?”

She hated the
almost
smile he gave her. That tight curve of his lips. There was no softness there, and no mercy.

“You heard me,” he told her. “You're mine first. Until I'm finished with you, then no one else can have any part of that lush little body.” Leaning against the counter, Crowe crossed his arms over his chest and arched his brows with an arrogance that had her teeth gritting.

“I don't deserve this attitude or your smart-assed remarks.” And she didn't think she could bear the hurtful, unemotional quality of them, either.

He laughed, a merciless, hollow sound. “Logan, Rafe, and I didn't deserve to be orphans, disowned and torn from our families. My sister didn't deserve a life of emotional isolation, and every lover any of us had didn't deserve to be raped and murdered. And I'll be damned, but I didn't deserve the nightmares I had nightly that one of us would fuck up, and you'd be next.”

Before she could register the fact that he had moved, his hands were gripping her shoulders, his voice rasping furiously, his eyes blazing more brilliantly than ever.

He wasn't cold any longer, but now she felt as if her heart were suddenly in danger from the man standing in front of her.

“Do you think I didn't have nightmares, too?” Her voice broke on a sob, the memories of her haunting fears rushing over her. “But I wasn't afraid for myself, Crowe.” She had to fight back the tears that would have fallen. “I was terrified you would disappear as Stoner did. That would have destroyed me.”

As quickly as he had grabbed her, Crowe released her at the mention of her ex-husband.

“You think Wayne is the reason Stoner left you?” He turned back to her, his gaze suddenly shuttered, his face brooding.

Did she think Wayne had been behind it?

Amelia would have laughed at the question if the situation had been less nerve racking.

She knew he had been behind it. “After he left, Wayne came to my room and assured me he had taken care of all of it,” she remembered bitterly. And she couldn't help but feel the smallest measure of gratitude to the bastard for that. She was certain Wayne hadn't meant to be merciful, but that one time—

Crowe laughed, a hard, bitter sound that had her flinching. “Hell, Amelia. Did you really care that much for him?”

“I hated him.” The sharp exclamation surprised him. “He was a bastard who deserved to be castrated and imprisoned—”

“He was a disease that needed to be eradicated. Trust me, Amelia, all he deserved was a bullet to put everyone he knew out of the misery he caused them.” Amelia flinched at the rage that seemed to radiate from Crowe.

She'd once thought she knew this man far better than anyone in her life, but she'd never imagined he would condone murder.

Even if he felt it was deserved.

Facing him, her chin lifted, her hands planting on her hips. “He deserved to be punished, not put out of his misery. Killing a man like Stoner Wright is a waste of a damned good sin better used for something a hell of a lot more fun.”

And of course, she should have watched what she said around this man.

“Such as?” he growled, moving closer to her again, his head bending to give her the full force of his imperious gaze.

Her eyes widened then narrowed as she all but rose to her tiptoes in confrontation. “I can think of far more interesting sins for you to commit, Crowe,” she snapped back at him. “And would have thought you could as well.” Her gaze flickered over his face, the savage planes and sharp angles, the brooding, heavy-lashed eyes, and his merciless gaze. “Or have you lost the imagination you once had?”